


Waiting in the Wings

by FrozenWings



Series: Tangled in Frozen Prompts [2]
Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: 'Sorta' because we all know how the movie ends, Angst, During Canon, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Pre-Frozen 2 (2019), Separation, Sisters, Takes place during Frozen 1, Tangled in Frozen Week (Disney), sorta sad ending, waiting in the wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:13:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25542670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenWings/pseuds/FrozenWings
Summary: Denial. Sacrifice. Solitude. These are as much a part of Elsa's daily existence as the air she breaths, the water she drinks, and the winter that crawls and slinks beneath her skin.But it won't always be like this. She can be patient. She can wait.
Relationships: Anna & Elsa (Disney)
Series: Tangled in Frozen Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849777
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Waiting in the Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Written in April 2020
> 
> ‘Waiting in the Wings’ is one of my all-time favorite songs; it’s a heart-breakingly beautiful piece, and even if you have no interest in ever watching 'Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure,' I highly recommend giving it a listen. The context I put it in is slightly different than the one from the song, but I’m very happy with the result.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_I’ll shed no tears,_

_I’ll only keep on waiting..._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eight-year-old Elsa was drawn from her book by the sound of shrieking laughter. Intuitively, she turned her gaze from the (admittedly dry) account of the old Northern Expeditions to the winter wonderland outside her window, flurries of fat flakes still dropping lightly from the clouds. 

The first snowfall of the season had happened last night, transforming Arendelle into something out of the fairy tales Anna used to love so much (she wondered briefly if her younger sister still did). A pristine white blanket had been lovingly draped over the dull, weathered brown roofs of the various houses and shops that lined the streets, which themselves were dotted with footprints from those people plucky enough to brave the cold in search of firewood or halibut or some other necessity. No doubt the village children were out and about beyond the bounds of her window, skating or sledding or throwing snowballs at hastily constructued snow forts (how she missed that!) before deciding they were cold enough and retreated indoors to waiting hearths and hot chocolate. There was one child in particular, though, that she knew for a fact would eschew the warmth of a fireplace for as long as possible so long as she could frolic in nature’s wintry blessing.

Judging by the sound of a second high-pitched squeal, her instincts were correct.

As though in a trance, hypnotized by that most beautiful of sounds, Elsa gently placed the book on her desk and slowly, carefully, made her way to the window, as though minding her footfalls would keep the ice contained within her soles. She paused a yard from the window, reluctant to go any closer lest Anna glance up and see her; Elsa knew from experience that catching a glimpse of her now-reclusive older sister was the only thing short of a chocolate-covered bribe that would entice Anna to re-enter the castle of her own free will (being hoisted over her father’s shoulder, squirming and shouting, didn’t count). Hence, she made sure to stay far back enough that Anna couldn’t notice her from the ground far below. Standing on her tip-toes, Elsa peered out, and gasped quietly at what she saw.

Anna was in the side courtyard, in full view of her window, playing in the snow. Even though she was alone, she clearly had no dearth of ideas for how to amuse herself; she had already made a heavenly host of snow angels, a small fort (complete with a heraldic banner constructed from a stick and one of their father’s handkerchiefs), and was now running in zig-zags and wobbly, drunken circles, making a maze of paths (for what purpose Elsa could not for the life of her fathom). 

Suddenly Anna stopped her flight through the flurries and began rolling snowballs, some small enough to carry, others so big she struggled to push them, haphazardly stacking them one on top of the other. Elsa’s heart skipped a beat as she realized what Anna was doing, and she crept forward, as though pulled by an invisible sisterly string. 

Her breath caught at the sight of the two snowmen, stick arms touching as they held hands, the larger of the two sporting what appeared to be a braid made out of pale yelow straw, the shorter snowman's head sprouting a pair of pigtails composed of orange yarn, no doubt pilfered from Mama’s knitting basket. But the thing that grabbed Elsa's attention the most was how the faces of both snowmen (or snowgirls, she supposed) were graced by matching, beaming smiles, made of carefully selected and placed pebbles, a frosty memory of what was. 

Anna stepped bak to admire her handiwork, head cocked as she regarded them with a critical eye. She suddenly moved forward and made a brief adjustment before backing up again, nodding with pleasure and clapping her hands.

The Anna-snowgirl’s arm, the one that wasn’t clutching snow-Elsa’s stick hand, was raised in a friendly wave, aimed at Elsa’s window. The smallest of smiles tugged at Elsa’s lips, and she stepped closer to the window, delicately placing her hands on the sill as she leaned over for a closer look. 

Instantly, a crackling sound rang out and ice coated the wood, causing the young girl to shrink back in horror. Quickly, Elsa turned from the window as the floor beneath her feet began to ice over as well, and the outside flurries were now mirrored on the princess’s side of the glass. 

Cold fingers were roughly rubbed across hot, smarting eyes. She couldn’t cry, _she wouldn’t,_ for to cry would be to mourn, and to mourn would be to give up hope. One day she would be able to rejoin her sister; she would learn to control the vicious ice within her person that was nothing like the beauty that graced the kingdom that would one day be hers, and there would be two princesses building snowmen in the courtyard.

Until then, she would wait, wait with dry eyes for the day that moment would come.

*************************

Elsa curled into as tight a ball as she could manage, pressing her squeezed-shut eyes into her knees with as much force as she could muster. 

She was sitting on her floor, or, more accurately, the three inches of cloudy gray ice that coated the floorboards. Her walls were similarly adorned, and she just knew that if she could summon the will to raise her head and tilt it all the way back her ceiling would match, likely with foot-long dagger-like icicles dripping from it menacingly like the fangs of a ravenous monster waiting to pounce. Snowflakes hung suspended in the air, as though they, too, were so stricken with dolor that they did not know what to do with themselves, numb even to the pull of gravity. The temperature was cold, so, so cold; she could feel the algid chill even through her thick woolen dress, and while it didn’t bother her, she still shivered in its death-like embrace. 

She took a shuddering breath, fighting against the painful, choking sob that was rising up from her chest into her tight, constricted throat. 

Why? Why did this have to happen? Why did they have to go? Why did God take them from her, leaving her all alone?

_*Knock knock knock*_

Correct that: she technically wasn’t alone. 

Elsa gave a quiet, barely audible moan as she attempted to bury her face further into her skirt. Anna had stopped by her door every day for the past two weeks following the service, trying to draw her sister out of her solitary confinement so they could grieve and heal together, both girls finding comfort in the only family they had left. Sometimes she’d just sit there sniveling (how Elsa wished she could wrap her younger in a hug and whisper to her that everything would be all right, reassurring herself in the process), but usually she’d talk; Anna never was one for being silent. 

She’d talk about how much she missed them, how miserable she felt, how she’d try to fall asleep at night only to hear their mother’s old lullaby on the wind and a fresh round of sobs would burst forth, keeping her awake 'til dawn. More often, though, she’d try to find out how Elsa was faring, asking if she was sleeping alright, if her chest always hurt like Anna’s did, if she was eating enough (Elsa wondered if she had seen the untouched plates of food left outside her door), and it both heartened and crushed the young woman who was the object of these inquiries that, even in the midst of her grief, Anna’s chief concern was for someone other than herself. She supposed she should answer her, tell her to go away for her own safety, but she just couldn’t bring herself to utter those three too-familiar words, couldn’t hurt her like that now or, if she was being honest, herself; a part of her died every time she did, and she couldn't stand to lose any more of her soul just yet.

“Elsa?”

Her ears perked at the sound of Anna’s voice, and she lifted her head just the tinest amount. Something was wrong; her name from Anna’s lips was thick and cracked, a tone she had never heard before, and it took all her willpower to not spring to her feet, fling open the door, and not return to her room until Anna was back to her usual bubbly self. 

But because she was herself, part and parcel with the deadly icy magic that was, even as she formed the thought, continuing to slowly consume her once-beautiful room, she resisted, instead shifting her position enough to press an ear to the rime-covered wood so as to catch every strangled syllable Anna said.

“I-I-I can’t do this anymore.”

Elsa held her breath, and a cold sense of dread grew in the pit of her stomach at the sound of Anna’s defeated tone. 

“I know you’re hurting; I am too, but we can’t go on like this. Hiding away, I mean. The kingdom is starting to come back to life again now that the mourning period is ending...” her voice trailed off and she gave a dry, humorless chuckle. “At least, officially. I don’t think I’ll ever really stop, even though Gerda says it’ll get better. Cause, like, they’re _not here_ ; how can I not mourn them? You know?” 

She paused, giving Elsa a chance to process her quetion and (hopefully) respond. Of course, she did not, so Anna continued. “Anyway, the kingdom’s going to need a queen and, well, that’s you.” 

Elsa bit her lip hard enough to taste blood. Of course she knew that; she just couldn’t bring herself to face that reality just yet. It was so daunting, the idea of trying to lead a kingdom, alone, without her father and mother to guide her, advise her on how to make decisions that would best benefit her people, and continue to help hide her wretched magic.

Anna, through some sister magic of her own, seemed to sense her elder’s worry, and said, “I know it scares you. It’d scare me too, but you don’t have to go it alone. I can help, be your right hand, just like we promised when we were kids, remember?”

How could she forget? Elsa nodded silently in response, and Anna was speaking again. “But...I can’t do that if you don’t let me in, and that’s what I can’t do anymore: keep being shut out.”

Anna’s voice changed, the teary wetness replaced by pleading desperation. “I can’t keep knocking and knocking and never have a response. It _hurts_ , Elsa, being ignored like this, talking and not even knowing if you’re listening or...if you don’t want to listen. I mean, here I am pouring my heart out and I can’t even tell if you care! It’s not just the kingdom who needs you, _I_ need you!! I need my sister!” She was crying full on now.. “Please, Elsa, can’t you just say something, _anything_ , so I know you...still think I’m worth something?” 

Elsa’s heart ached to speak, to gift her sister with even the smallest, tiniest “I still love you, Anna,” but she couldn’t, not when the wretched ice was so beyond her feeble control. 

in the quiet that followed, something in Anna must have snapped, for her next words were hot and her tears were no longer soaked in sadness, but anger.

“Fine! Be that way! Stay locked in your room hiding from me. But I’m through! I can’t keep putting myself through this, so I won’t! See if I knock again!” The next sound Elsa heard was angry stomping, growing fainter as the new crown princess stalked down the hall, away from the purple-patterned door. 

“Anna wait!”

The words rose up in Elsa’s throat but stuck there, trapped by years of keeping her distance, of shutting her sister out, of being told it was for Anna’s own good. Instead they were transformed into an anguished scream, long and tortured, muffld by a slender gloved hand. Somethng hot burned in Elsa’s eyes, and she bit down on the satin as she took one tremulous breath after another, not stopping until the tears retreated back to whence they came and the constricting pain in her heart lowered to a dull ache she had long since become accustomed to. 

She couldn’t cry, _she wouldn’t_ , for to cry would be to mourn and to mourn would be to give up hope. One day, she would be able to make it up to her sister, to hold her and offer the comfort she had no choice but to deny her now, to leave her room and be the sister Anna deserved. 

But until then, she would wait, wait with dry eyes for the day that moment would come.

*************************

Three years later, Elsa crouched on the frozen fjord, waiting for the sword to come crashing down on her skull, ending her miserable, pathetic life. She waited, cerulean eyes shining and cheeks dry, for the moment to come, but it never did. There was a sound behind her, one that, in her abject grief, she couldn’t place, and she turned around, curious. 

Immediately, she wished she hadn’t.

Eyes went wide as she sprang to her feet with a cry of “Anna!”, not wanting to believe the sight that stood before her.

Her sister, her beloved sister, was frozen solid, a person-shaped statue of flawless turquoise ice through and through, etched intermittently with that same abhorrent snowflake design that always accompanied ice made by her cursed magic. Anna’s eyes were scared, her lips parted in a silent cry, and she stood protectively over the spot where Elsa had knelt seconds earlier. One arm was raised high above her head, and the other was thrust out over Elsa’s spot on the ice. It was all too clear what had happened. 

Elsa felt like she could be sick right there on the fjord. This couldn’t be happening. _It couldn’t_.

“No,” Elsa gave a terrified whisper. "No. Please, no.” Tentative, trembling hands reached out towrds Anna’s face, dreading what they would feel upon making contact, hoping beyond hope for warm, living skin so she could wake up from this living Hell. But the surface beneath her digits when they landed on Anna’s frozen face was the cold, hard, smooth, and sickeningly familiar sesation of ice, too frigid and lifeless to keep the flame of life alive, and Elsa’s own wavering, sputtering flame of hope was extinguished.

“ANNA!” 

Elsa’s cry for her sister dissolved into an avalanche of keening, tearing sobs, loud and agonizing as she bemoaned her sister’s fate, a fate she didn’t deserve, a fate that should have been Elsa’s. She collapsed onto her sister’s icy form, clinging to it as though she could no longer bear her own weight, and wept. 

Thirteen years worth of tears coursed down the queen’s face all at once, as she grieved the life they did not live and now never could.

She did not try to stop them. 

For now she could mourn freely; all hope was dead with Anna. 

There was no longer a point in waiting.

The moment of reunion would never come.

**Author's Note:**

> ...But we all know what happens a couple minutes later, so there’s still a happy ending!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed (and please leave a kudos if you did)!
> 
> Special acknowledgement to the brilliant minds behind this song, Alan Menken and Glen Slater, as well as the talented Eden Espinosa for bringing it to life.


End file.
